TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE ; 2 September 1853; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18530902-TC-JAC-01; CL 28: 257-258
TC TO JOHN A. CARLYLE
Chelsea, 2 Septr, 1853—
My dear Brother,—It is a good few days since I heard of you, and longer since I wrote: but I conclude there has been no news from Scotsbrig, or else you would have at once forwarded it. I heard from Jean after her arrival there; the account favourable so far as we could look for such: I wrote to her today; and shall perhaps hear again soon. She mentioned that my Mother had forbidden your being sent for, as there was nothing you had not already done so far as possible.
I have been rather below par for a week past; bilious in the unusual way,—which, however, will perhaps come to good. The weather is very bad; rain and blustery winds frequent, with a very cool temperature: today, with wind north, we have had a great deal of violent rain; yesterday, wind south-west, was as heavy a deluge as I have seen for long. As our new roof is not very complete, this does not answer well to us.— However, the adroit little fellows bear a hand lustily; and we are getting on not so ill, in spite of weather. The noise they make from 6 a.m. till 8 p.m. is prodigious; especially these two days when they have been flooring;—an operation now complete, I do hope; for we have had the ceiling of my room violated 5 times, by Irish gentn unacquainted (I suppose) with the nature of laths! Chorley is the perfection of Bauräthe [building supervisor]; mounts aloft like a bird; got all wetted today; shuns no labour;—and hopes to make a “canty thing of it” before long. Truly if I can get a soundproof room, it will be about the best thing this London Universe can now yield me.
David Laing1 of the Signet Library was here yesterday amid the rain: sturdy and fiery (in the Antiquarian way), but wants his front teeth. His Knox is to be completed; another volume soon.—2 I think you knew old Childs the Suffolk Radical and Puritan? He is dead, the valiant old Childs, in a curious mood and manner, of which this Letter by Fitzgerald gives account.3 Pray return the Letter when you have done with it. We have never run to Addiscombe yet; but if this noise do not abate, I at least ought.— Goethe's Eckermann has fallen into some distress, and sends over Autographs again,—happily not to me. Adieu, Dear Brother